Silence falls on 221B
by VioletMasquerade
Summary: When John comes home from getting milk, he comes across a forgetful Sherlock on the couch. But when he finds odd markings on the consulting detective's arm, he begins a journey that he cannot even begin to blog about.
1. Chapter 1

Rain tapped quietly on the window of the flat. John Watson hurried inside, shaking off his wet coat and stomping out his boots on the mat in the doorway. Carrying the milk he went out for upstairs, he saw Sherlock draped across the couch; his eyes closed.

John raised his eyebrow as he walked passed, headed for the kitchen. After placing the new milk in the fridge, he walked back to where his friend lay. Sherlock's right hand covered the crook of his bent left elbow, the rest of his arm lay against his chest. His hand cradled the spot where he usually placed a nicotine patch. Sighing, John unbent the arm to take a look.

"Sherlock, what are these?" he asked, confused by the seven black tally marks where the hand had covered.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes looking exasperated. "I don't know," he sighed.

"Well did you put them there?" John raised an expectant eyebrow.

"I don't know."

"How can you not know, Sherlock? It's your arm."

The man just stared straight ahead, his dark brown curls pushed aside.

"What do they mean?" John asked, confirming his colleague wasn't high.

"I have no idea," he sighed, looking utterly put out and tired.

John examined the marks, noticing a black marker in Sherlock's other hand. "So, you did do it then?"

"Do what?" Sherlock looked back at John.

"The tallies," he pointed at the black marks on Sherlock's forearm. "you did them." He reached and took the black marker.

"Why would I tally on myself?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at his forearm. "Oh, look at that." He took back the marker to fiddle with.

"Well why would you? That's what I asked," John retorted, shaking his head.

Sherlock shrugged, thinking. Taking a deep breath and still fiddling with the marker, his eyes drifted back to where they had previously rested in the corner.

"I don't understand," John sighed, still looking at the marks.

"John," the consulting detective murmured, eyes locked on the corner, "get my phone."

"Where is it?"

"Right by your foot."

He handed it to the man distractedly.

"No, no I need you to send a text to someone for me."

John rolled his eyes, but opened up a new text message template. "Alright, what should it say?"

Sherlock slowly made an eighth tally mark on his arm without taking his eyes from the corner of the room. "Say: The Silence is here. Eight marks. Come quickly."

"What does that even mean?" John chuckled, typing in the words.

Sherlock didn't turn. "Just address it to 'The Doctor', it should already be in my mobile," he murmured quietly.

John sent the text, looking up at his friend. "What's the Silence?" What do you mean it's here? Sherlock-"

The consulting detective clapped a hand on his blogger's shoulder as he moved to look around. "Promise me you won't look around, John."

"What? Why?" John looked surprised.

"Just," Sherlock gritted his teeth, frustrated, "just promise me you won't look around. Don't move until he gets here."

"Who? Who is going to be here?" John asked, thoroughly confused.

"The Doctor," Sherlock sighed.

"Doctor who?"

"Promise me!"

"I promise." John frowned, but didn't move.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. "I can't forget again," he whispered, writing a few keywords on the back of his arm; his eyes remained on the corner of the flat.

"Are you going to explain to me what's going on, Sherlock?"

A whirring, scraping noise sounded from the street infront of the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

A whirring, scraping noise sounded from the street infront of the flat. Startled, John glanced towards the front door.

"What the hell was that?" John asked, standing against Sherlock's better judgement.

"John, just hold on-"

A tall, thin man burst through the front door of 221B. His long legs bounded up the stairs in virtually no time flat, placing him in the sitting room, standing tall in his pin striped brown suit. Tossed over his shoulder lay his chocolate brown tie, looking as though it had been haphazardly loosened. From his inner jacket pocket he pulled an odd looking devise that shared the appearance of a high tech house hold appliance.

"Excuse me, is that a screw driver?" John inquired, moving infront of the man.

"Oh, hello! You must be the John-doctor Sherlock talks about! Very nice to finally meet you. Quite the pleasure. Oh, I've heard wonderful things about you, other doctor!" the man babbled, shaking John's hand enthusiastically. He examined the blogger quickly, eyes full of wonder. "Brilliant! Alright then, Sherlock, I got your text. Don't tell me where to look, tell me all you know right now."

"It appeared about an hour ago when John went out for milk. It's just been standing there, staring at me. Whenever I look away, I completely forget that it's there. I figured out a system of tally marks for when I look at it. It seems to connect to the energy in the room; every once and a while the lamp that it is standing next to will dim slightly as if it were undergoing a power serge an-"

"Thank you, Sherlock. No time for deductions now." The man fiddled with the devise from his pocket for a moment.

"Wait, who are you?" John turned and faced the corner Sherlock had been staring at. There stood a pale creature in what appeared to be a dirty old suit. The large head seemed disproportionate to the thin featured body. The small, black, deeply set eyes peered at Dr. Watson as the creature slowly tilted its head to the side, sizing him up. Its long, thick fingers hung down almost passed the knee. The entire being had an eery sense of familiarity encircling it, as if it had been seen before by all.

"What the hell is that?! Sherlock what is th-" John's eyes moved from the corner to his friend's face. He turned back to the man as if he'd forgotten his train of thought. "Who are you?"

The man held the device over his ruffled head of silky brown hair. A shrill, electronic sound pierced the air as the device lit up. Everyone but the man in the pin-striped suit covered their ears in pain. The creature in the corner darted past the small group of men. All of the lights dimmed significantly and what appeared to be static crawled over the being's form, as if it had stolen the electricity from the lamps. The sound stopped. Sherlock and John stared as the man twirled the device between his thin fingers and grinned.

"I'm the Doctor."

Sherlock turned to face him. "What are you doing here?"

The Doctor quickly reexplained the whole situation, glancing around the room to make sure the creature had definitely gone. "Alright, let's go, boys," he exclaimed, clapping his hands together and moving towards the door.

Sherlock wrapped his blue scarf around his neck, grabbing his coat with a still rather confused John hot on his heels. The Doctor led the way to a tall, blue Police Box that sat a few feet to the left of the door of the flat. Pulling out a small silver key and unlocking the door, he moved to go inside.

John raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Making a call, then?" he questioned.

Grinning, the Doctor pushed in both doors and stepped to the side for the two men to get a look. John took a step closer, poking his head inside the impossibly large interior of the box. He frowned, pulling his head back out to look up and down at the outside. Brow furrowed in frustration, he stepped inside the box, looked around then stepped out again; walking a lap around the exterior. Slowly he glanced between the Doctor and his Police Box. The Doctor grinned and nodded.

"It's bigger on the inside..." John murmured, looking at the man in disbelief.

"I know." A huge grin spread across the Doctor's already happy face. "Let' go then, inside now." He ushered the blogger inside excitedly.

Sherlock, who had already gone inside for closer inspection, stood facing a wall, fingers tracing over the patterns. He stopped and turned around, eyes focused on the Doctor. "How?"

"Well it's quite complicated actually-" he began, but was suddenly cut off by a sudden wailing sound from what appeared to be the control center in the middle of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock, who had already gone inside for closer inspection, stood facing a wall, fingers tracing over the patterns. He stopped and turned around, eyes focused on the Doctor. "How?"

"Well it's quite complicated actually-" he began, but was suddenly cut off by a sudden wailing sound from what appeared to be the control center in the middle of the room.

The Doctor danced around the console flicking switches, smacking buttons with malets, throwing levers, grinning wickedly as a scraping sound swelled and ebbed around them. He gestured for John to shut the door behind him. "I recommend you grab a hold of something," he suggested as the room took to shaking nastily.

Sherlock grabbed at the staircase railing, John braced himself by the door, and the Doctor laughed, holding onto a piece of the console. The T.A.R.D.I.S. gave one last hard shake then settled. The Doctor's brow puckered, something was wrong. In a couple of long legged strides, he stood in front of John, attempting to peel him from the door frame.

"Excuse me," he muttered, looking perplexed. Pulling the doors towards himself, he poked his head out tentatively. Nothing dangerous that he could see, however a high pitched giggling sounded from behind the box. "Here we go, you two. Come along now."

The Doctor ushered the pair out onto the slick pavement. Sherlock looked around, feeling something off about where they were. It appeared to be London, but there was far too much smoke coming from the surrounding buildings for it to be modern day. His bright eyes examined every detail of the alley they seemed to be on.

_Raining...two hours previous; smoke stacks not relevant to the twenty first century; street signs different; images warped in glass windows-definitely not the same time as when we left; child's laughter, but no children anywhere to be seen; people rushing, work-week day; bright enough to be roughly two o'clock in the afternoon; overcast; walls close together, not accessible to vehicles, rarely used; absolutely London._

"What year is it?" Sherlock asked, his deductions falling flat on that detail. He was not liking where they were.

"About 1893," the Doctor supplied, locking the box he had just pulled closed. They shouldn't have landed here.

"Excuse me?" John sputtered, his eyes wide as he gazed at the strange man before him. All he had wanted after work was to pick up some milk and have a nice cup of tea, but apparently that was not going to happen any time soon.

The Doctor raised his voice. "I said about 1893!"

John was horribly confused, how could they possibly be in the late nineteenth century when just five minutes ago...well five minutes ago some sort of electricity sucking creature was apparently in his flat tormenting his friend. "Wait..." John began, folling Sherlock and the Doctor away from the Police Box, "what about whatever you say was in our flat?"

"Oh, it's no big deal really. Just a straggler. It's a dying species actually, had people start hunting them in Nixon's day in America. Not at all dangerous. Oooh, what's that?"

The pin striped man wandered over to a sweets shop store window where many brightly colored lollipops and other treats were on display. The contrast between the shop and the dull gray of the city was rather shocking in comparison. Sherlock's contorted face continued to maintain a pensive quality as John followed the Doctor inside. Excitedly, the Doctor picked out three large, colorful lollipops that had caught his eye and set them on the counter. He payed the man and stuffed two of the three in his pocket, unwrapping the first and licking at the artfully spun sugar as John began asking more questions.

"How did we get to 1893?" John asked, annoyance clear across his solemn face. "Was it that bloody box?"

"Yes it was my box, it's called the T.A.R.D.I.S., which stands for time and relative dimension in space. It's my time machine. It can take us anywhere at anytime to anytime, however I did not ask her to take us here. This is a bit of a mystery." He waggled his fingers curiously at the word 'mystery'. He grabbed Sherlock by the sleeve and towed him along as he began looking around for clues that might lead to why his beloved machine brought them there.

Another bout of giggling began behind them in the alley to their left. Sherlock turned, his brow furrowed. Who was the laughter coming from? Shaking his head, he turned back towards the cobbled road ahead, putting off the giggles as they came again.


End file.
